WARNING!!!
THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SOME SEXUAL CONTENT!!!
I lifted my head and looked into her eyes. There was still trust in her eyes. She was still ready to listen to me. Without betraying that trust, but also without revealing the whole truth, I began to speak:
"First, let me tell you about my family," I said, my voice unconsciously lowering a little. "My father... was a typical drunk. The bottle was his friend, and we were just a burden. He worked in industry, he had the hands of a laborer; but he never brought home the few pennies he earned, he left them at the tavern. When he came home, he was either drunk or had fits of rage. That rage was mostly directed at my mother. I grew up in the shadow of fists and curses. Our home wasn't within four walls, but rather in the midst of a constantly raging storm."
I took a deep breath, swirled the wine on my tongue, and continued:
"My mother... she was a quiet, silent, withdrawn woman. Over time, the light in her eyes faded. I don't even remember if it was ever there. She cooked, cleaned the house, and when evening came, she silently endured her husband's anger. She had become so accustomed to being beaten that it seemed like an unchangeable part of her destiny. I saw neither hope nor resistance on her face. Only resigned helplessness. Watching someone who was once human slowly turn into a shadow... that leaves a deep mark on the human soul."
My eyes grew distant, scenes echoing off the cold walls of my memory rushed into my mind.
As I spoke, I downed the wine in my glass in one gulp. The burning fire in my throat merged with the memories of my past. When I placed the glass on the table, my eyes turned to Irina.
"School..." I said, my voice trembling slightly, but I controlled myself. "School was a kind of refuge for me. Unlike the hell at home, there were rules there; understandable, predetermined, and unchanging rules. I would bury myself in books. Getting lost between the pages was like forgetting reality, at least for a while. I wasn't considered a star student, but I was above average. Teachers noticed me, but I didn't care about praise. I was quiet, distant."
Irina listened without blinking. The look in her eyes was one that didn't judge me, but only tried to understand. This made it easier for me to talk.
I paused for a moment, gathered my thoughts, and continued talking:
"When I reached eleventh grade, I secretly applied to the Frunze Military Academy in Moscow. Specifically, to the armored forces department. War machines gave me a strange sense of confidence. I passed the entrance exams, not with the highest score, but with a solid one. When the acceptance letter arrived, my feelings were mixed. Part of me was happy to be one step closer to escaping, while another part... I don't know, was still questioning whether I belonged anywhere."
I took a deep breath. I was coming to the really painful part.
"I took the letter home that evening. My mom wasn't there; she was hiding in the kitchen again. My dad was on the couch, watching TV with a bottle of vodka in his hand. I handed him the letter. He raised his hand, took it, glanced over it. Then, without saying a word, he crumpled it up and threw it on the floor. His eyes slowly turned to me, but for the first time, it wasn't anger... it was the expression of someone who realized something had slipped through their fingers. He was like a child about to lose the toy he tortured every day."
"That night..." I said, my eyes lost in the distance. The bitter taste of wine still lingered in my throat, but the pain inside me was a thousand times worse. "That night was the day everything broke."
Irina listened to me without saying a word. She silently squeezed my hand tightly. I continued:
"When I returned home that evening, it was dark outside. Familiar sounds were coming from inside—a muffled scream, then the sound of a slap, then silence again. Just like always... But that day, something was different. That day, I had nothing left to endure."
I swallowed hard; even a bit of saliva struggled to pass my throat.
"When I went to my mother's room, she was lying on the floor. Her face was bruised, tears streaming from her eyes, but she didn't make a sound. It was as if she had become immune to the pain. Yet right in front of her, my father was still raising and lowering the belt in his hand. There was no anger on his face, only pleasure."
My words had deepened. It was as if I was no longer the one telling the story. It was as if I was watching that child from the past from a distance.
"There was a large, thick glass vase on the table. My mother had bought it at her wedding and kept it in glass display cases for years. I picked it up... Without thinking, without planning. I just listened to that wild whisper rising inside me. I brought the vase down on my father's head with all my strength."
Irina took a deep breath. The fingers holding my hand began to tremble, but she didn't let go. She looked into my eyes, without judgment.
"Everything stopped with the crash of glass. My father staggered. The disgusting expression on his face was gone. His head hit the back wall with a hollow thud. Then he didn't move again. He didn't scream, he didn't moan... He just collapsed to the floor."
My eyes narrowed, reliving that dirty part of my memory.
"My mother was silent. She wasn't moving, but her eyes were open. She looked at me, no fear in her eyes, no shock. Just... a kind of acceptance. I carried my father's lifeless body out on my back in the middle of the night. I buried him in a hole I dug at the back of the cemetery, at the foot of an old, crumbling wall. I covered him with earth, covered it with stones. No one noticed anything. The neighbors were already fed up with his drunkenness; no one was even surprised he was gone. The police didn't even open an investigation. 'He was drunk, he must have frozen to death somewhere,' they said."
I took a deep breath. I bowed my head slightly, then straightened up again.
"Then I went to the academy," I said, with a silence that suggested I had said everything. "Now I had a new life ahead of me. A new discipline, a new purpose."
I slowly reached for the Russian salad in front of me, picked up a few pieces with my fork, and put them in my mouth. It was more about the texture than the taste, but I needed to keep my mouth busy while talking. But now it was time to lie.
"After the academy, I served in the armored units in Leningrad. I became a tank commander. Inside that steel beast, I felt completely cut off from the outside world. But that didn't last forever either. It was clear that the bombs would fall. The city began to be evacuated. I was sent to an underground shelter by order."
For a moment, my eyes met Irina's. There was sadness and resignation in them. Still, she didn't interrupt me. I continued with a sigh:
"What followed... was a long, dark journey. After everything was destroyed, I stayed there for a long time. When I came out of the shelter, the world was no longer the place I knew. The Soviets were gone, cities were in ruins. There was no electricity, no government... Only those struggling to survive and death lying in wait. It was a long road, sometimes I walked, sometimes I hid."
I paused for a moment, then began to speak with determination:
"Now I have a plan," I said. My voice was firm, but it carried a hint of hope. "I want to go to Lake Baikal. According to radiation maps, it's still one of the safest, livable areas. It's far, yes... But it's reachable. I'll set out. I don't know how long it will take. Maybe weeks, maybe months. But I'll get there in the end."
I took her hand. I placed my thumb between her soft fingers and gently stroked them. I looked into her eyes and spoke slowly but clearly:
"And... I want you to come with me. Not just as a traveling companion. I want you by my side, in my life, in my heart."
The dim candlelight falling on the table stretched like a trembling bridge between our two pairs of eyes. Irina took my hands in hers, then brought my fingertips to her lips. She kissed them so gently, so tenderly, that for a moment my heart seemed to stop. She lifted her eyes and looked at me. There was no fear in her eyes, no doubt—only a calm, clear devotion.
"I will always be by your side, Aleksey," she said, her voice as soft as velvet but with rock-solid determination in every syllable. "My heart belongs to you...and nothing else in the world matters."
That sentence silenced the thousands of screams inside me. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a few seconds. Then, nodding slightly, I rang the old-fashioned bell; it was attached to the side of the table, made of brass, looking like something from an old mansion's parlor. Its sound spread through the cabin like a delicate, nostalgic melody.
"I think we've been talking gloomily enough," I said, a smile appearing on my lips for the first time. "Let's eat something sweet, let's talk sweetly. What kind of sweet would you like, my Irina?"
Irina chuckled softly. She picked up the menu again, her thin eyebrows rising slightly for a moment. Her lips curved into one of her special smiles as she replied:
"Then... I'll have the 'Ptichye Moloko'. It was the last dessert I ate as a child. Even the name is beautiful... 'Bird's Milk'. Perhaps it suits this evening."
I nodded in agreement. I placed the menus on the edge of the table. Soon after, the waiter approached the booth gracefully, bowing slightly with that same professional silence.
"Did you have a request, sir?" he asked.
"Bring us two plates of 'Ptichye Moloko' cake," I said, noticing the warmth in my voice.
The waiter bowed his head slightly, a serious but respectful expression on his face.
"Right away, sir," he said and left the cabin almost without a sound.
A few minutes later, the cabin curtain parted once more. The waiter approached with an old but clean tray with silver edges. Two portions of 'Ptichye Moloko' cake were elegantly placed on white porcelain plates. The chocolate coating on the cake glistened slightly in the candlelight. The waiter silently placed the tray on the table, bowed slightly, and left the cabin again without making a sound.
I glanced at the dessert in front of me. A soft, smooth soufflé filling, topped with a thick layer of chocolate... This cake was practically a symbol of the Soviet era. It was so famous that, according to legend, a giant Ptichye Moloko cake had been the centerpiece of the banquet held for Brezhnev's 70th birthday. Back then, "bird's milk" was considered an almost legendary dessert—difficult to find, its meaning even more so.
My eyes shifted from the table to the woman sitting next to me.
Irina... She was looking at her cake with childlike admiration. Her lips didn't move, but her eyes spoke volumes. At that moment, I sensed that she was not a warrior, but a little girl who had been forced to suppress her joy for years. Perhaps the last time she ate this cake, she could still imagine a future for herself. Now that future was sitting right across the table.
I tapped my hand on the armrest, shifted slightly to the side, and looked at her with a smile. When our eyes met, a coy smile appeared on her face. She turned her body slightly and sat down next to me with feminine grace. When her hip touched my knee, the warmth from her skin spread through me.
I picked up the fork from my plate and cut a large piece from the cake. The soufflé was soft, and the fork practically sank into it. I carefully extended the cake towards her lips.
Without my having to say anything, Irina narrowed her eyes and parted her lips, barely managing to fit the large piece into her mouth. Her cheeks filled, her eyes widened, and an indescribable comical expression appeared on her face. She looked like a child with her mouth full, trying to appear chic and noble.
I couldn't help but laugh at the sight—my laughter rose, heartfelt and free. My laughter filled the cabin, and for a moment, I felt like a child again. On his face, a tiny crumb of soufflé remained at the corner of his lips. I gently extended my index finger and took that little smudge from the corner of her lips. Then I eagerly sucked on that finger. Without taking my eyes off hers, I gave her a slight wink.
Irina's cheeks flushed quickly. She turned her head shyly but couldn't help smiling. She took the fork in her hand, cut off another piece of the dessert, and this time offered it to me with her own hands.
"Then it's my turn, my Wolf Eyed Man," she said, her voice trembling slightly with femininity.
I brought the fork to my lips. I closed my eyes as the dessert melted on my palate. The light soufflé filling inside, combined with the chocolate coating, stirred something inside me like a childhood memory. It was both familiar and longed for. I opened my eyes and looked at her face.
Irina turned her head away, as if avoiding my gaze, but she couldn't hide her smile. Then, shyly, she rested her head on my shoulder.
I bent my head slightly and kissed the top of her head. The scent of her hair... It was like a light lavender mixed with soft soap. When I breathed it in, time stopped for a moment.
Irina's face was bright red, as if it had caught fire. She couldn't hide her shyness, but there was an invitation mixed with innocence in her eyes. She gently raised her hand and touched my face, examining my cheeks, my chin, my hair with her fingers.
A flutter rose within me. Watching her eyes, I couldn't resist the look of embarrassment but love on her face. I leaned in slowly, brushing my lips against her cheek—but this time, it wasn't just a kiss, it was a little bite.
Her reaction was immediate. She flinched in a moment of panic, jumped slightly, and her eyes widened in surprise. She looked so adorable that I couldn't help myself; a mischievous grin appeared on my lips, then I slowly licked my lips and whispered softly:
"Mmm... You really are delicious...My sweet Irina."
Irina's face turned bright red, but this time not from embarrassment, but from an overflowing femininity. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at me—both with desire and deep trust. She slowly rested her head on my chest, and I felt her heartbeat against my body.
"If you keep teasing me like this..." Irina said, her voice ringing in my ears like a sweet threat. A mischievous smile settled on her lips. She gently traced her index finger from my chest to my neck—as if each touch left a fiery mark on my skin.
She paused for a moment. Then she pouted her lips coyly, furrowing her brow slightly. She crossed her arms under her breasts and grumbled in a feigned angry tone:
"You such a Woman Hunter... Hmph."
I mixed a little seriousness and a little lust into my smile. I slowly slid to the side, tilting my head and moving closer to her ear. My breath was close enough to touch her neck.
"My Irina..." I said, my voice almost a whisper.
"...Right now, you're the only woman I'm hunting."
And then, I gently bit her ear.
Her whole body trembled again. She almost let out a small scream but managed to stifle it. But I still heard her squeal. She covered her face with her hands, trying to hide her embarrassment, but through her fingers she looked at me with shocked eyes. It was as if no one had ever touched her like this before. She was just realizing how sensitive her ear was.
Her cheeks and neck were bright red. But this wasn't just the redness of embarrassment. It was the heat of desire.
We locked eyes for a few seconds. Neither her eyes could look away, nor could mine stop staring.
"If you react so sweetly, my dear Irina..." I said, lowering my voice. The words were almost a whisper. I leaned my head toward her a little more. "I can't help loving you even more."
I gently reached my fingers toward her wrists. When I slowly took her hands, she hesitated for a moment and tilted her head slightly, but she didn't resist. I gently lowered her hands, which were still covering her face, and looked into her eyes. Those eyes... Eyes that held both darkness and light at the same time, blood-red eyes... They pulled me in like a whirlpool.
I approached slowly. Filling the space between us with love, I lightly touched her lips. The kiss was short, gentle, and sincere; but it held a deep longing. The moment I felt the soft texture of her lips, my heart began to beat rapidly in my chest. It was as if time had stopped in that brief moment of contact.
I kissed her a second time. This time a little longer, a little more intensely... I gently took her lower lip between mine and sucked lightly. When I opened my eyes, Irina's face was flushed. The blush on her cheek had spread to her neck. Her eyes were locked on me with a hazy mist; there was intoxication mixed with desire in them.
She didn't say anything. After just a moment's glance, she wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed her lips to mine again. This kiss was beyond words. It was so natural, as if we had both been preparing for this moment for years. When our lips met, our tongues began to dance with each other. Neither of us set the rhythm or the timing; we were simply carried away by our feelings.
I wrapped my hand around her buttocks, pulled her body toward me, and sat her on my lap. Her slender body leaned against mine, her large breasts pressed against my muscular chest. Irina was breathing heavily, moans she couldn't suppress escaping her lips. The beating of her heart was so close it felt like it was beating against my skin.
I leaned my face toward her delicate neck. That familiar scent emanating from her skin—a bit floral, a bit the natural warmth of her skin—seemed to penetrate not my lungs, but directly into my heart. I gently pressed my lips against her skin. The first kiss was light; just a touch that made her aware of my presence.
Irina's body flinched slightly. She reflexively brought her hand to her mouth; clearly trying to stifle a sound. But her body betrayed her—the small tremors, the irregularity of her breath, and the slight shiver of her skin... These were the outward echoes of her feelings, despite her attempts to remain silent.
I continued kissing her carefully. My lips traced the curves of her neck like a river flowing over her skin. Occasionally, I would take her lips between mine and bite them, then release them and let my warm breath wander over her neck. When I reached the spot where her pulse beat, I stopped. I drew her entire scent into my lungs, pressed my lips there, and sucked deeply for a few seconds—pressing her breasts against my face with my hands, so that I could feel the rhythm of her heart on my lips.
"Ahhh..."
Irina's voice was an unstoppable whisper. She threw her head back, her hair cascading over her shoulders. She leaned her trembling body against me with all her weight. At that moment, neither time nor place mattered between us. Only us. And our touch.
I lifted my head. Her cheeks were bright red, beads of sweat sitting on her forehead lines. Her eyes were half-closed, but her gaze was still on me; hazy and completely filled with desire. Her breathing was irregular. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, and behind the thin fabric of her black dress, every curve of her body became clear. Her breasts were prominent, her nipples erect, slightly pushing against the fabric and making themselves known.
She seemed to be trying to resist more. But her body was saying something else. She was rubbing her thighs together desperately, pressing her curvy hips unconsciously into my lap. Every tremor mixed with her breath was beyond her control.
And then, almost like a sigh, she spoke in a muffled whisper:
"That's enough... Aleksey. If you go on any further... I won't be able to take it anymore."
The words were the confession of a soul walking on the edge of desire. There was both pleading and surrender in her voice.
I placed one last kiss on her lips. This time, long and slow. Then I rested my forehead against hers. I took her in my arms, protective like a wolf, longing like a lover.
"I love you," I said, my voice almost a prayer escaping my lips. "You know that, don't you?"
Irina brought her thumb to my lips, gently caressing them with her finger. There was such grace, such nobility in her eyes... It was as if she were not a princess, but an honorable queen standing before me.
"I love you too," she said, her voice as soft as velvet. "Very much. More than I can describe..."
She rested her head on my chest, and I began to stroke her hair with my peaceful fingers, as if it were a habit. With every touch, it was as if a little more love was woven into her skin. Time had stopped. The chaos of the night, the weary breath of the city, everything was insignificant in that moment.
We finished the meal in silence. It wasn't just quiet; it was the peaceful conversation of two hearts.